


We Call It The Raven

by liquidCitrus



Category: Homeland - Cory Doctorow, Little Brother - Cory Doctorow
Genre: Chatting & Messaging, Coronavirus, Didactic, Disability, Gen, Hospitalization, Recovery, Rehabilitation, how to call an ambulance for an internet friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:46:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24104638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liquidCitrus/pseuds/liquidCitrus
Summary: Liam typoed it as "corvid" and now we call it the Raven.When a certain m1k3y becomes seriously ill, Neil finds himself in a position to help.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, a couple notes before we start here: I've wanted to write fanfic of this series for the greater part of a decade, but it wasn't until [gestures out the window] that I knew what, precisely, to write about.
> 
> It's... been a few years since I've seriously read the books themselves - I tried to skim them again, but honestly this story clawed its way out of me without much of any input on my part, so I didn't really have time or wherewithal to go look. The extreme didacticism, ripped-from-the-headlines topics, heteronormativity, and large number of references to real brands are all canon-typical. The medical information was current as of May 2020, but as time goes on it will become increasingly out-of-date, so you should probably be looking elsewhere for the latest information on how it works.
> 
> Writing chatlog fic is always a pleasure. You can take the fan out of Homestuck, but you can never take Homestuck out of the fan.
> 
> "m1k3y" is of course Marcus, "armstrong" is Neil, "tAngent" is Ange, "socks00" is Darryl, "Songbird" is Van, and "ceiling_fan" is Liam.

Turns out that being in a group chat with someone famous isn't really any different from being in a group chat with anyone else. They share reddit threads that have screenshots of twitter threads that discuss tumblr posts, talk about how their packages got delivered to the wrong address, then discuss why anyone ever thought that networking your security camera and doorbell to the Internet just so you can pretend to be home whenever someone delivers stuff was a good idea.

Okay, to be fair, unless you're in a group chat with noted privacy activist Marcus Yallow, that last one probably isn't a point of discussion.

At the moment that social distancing caught us all, our group had long since scattered geographically. Marcus was doing a six-month stint with some foundation or other in New York State, while Ange - his wife - was still in SF continuing with her usual job as a medical coder. Jolu'd decided to cut his commute to Silicon Valley, and moved to the suburbs of San Jose. Van and Darryl had moved out to Sacramento some years ago, because freelance web design and SSDI aren't reliable enough to pay the sheer absurdity of Bay Area rent these days. I'd moved too - Chicago has social media manager jobs, and my brother Liam works for a nonprofit in Detroit so I can be close enough by to drop by for a weekend.

The group chat that had been born so many years ago to help coordinate increasingly rare reunions, the group chat that’s survived multiple moves from IRC to some weird Jitsi hack and eventually to Signal, had become the only link most of us had to the others. So we had a head start on only being able to socialize using the Internet.

<armstrong> Hey  
<m1k3y> hey neil. what's up?  
<armstrong> The sad black slush's starting to melt off my window.  
<armstrong> Soon I'll actually be able to see feet and car tires again!  
<m1k3y> w00t  
<tAngent> Still can't figure out how you can stand living in a basement  
<armstrong> I manage.  
<armstrong> Also thanks for looking up those articles about how Zoom's using exploits to install itself and not properly end-to-end encrypted and all that.  
<armstrong> Haven't managed to convince K-boss to move yet, but Z-boss's currently telling all her friends about just how shady it is.  
<armstrong> Any news on the Raven?  
<m1k3y> some guy in Italy called Christian Fracassi is saving lives 3d printing replacement valves for ventilators  
<m1k3y> he had to reverse engineer the part - apparently the manufacturer refused to share the specs because they couldn't guarantee a 3d printed replacement would work and didn't want to be sued or something  
<m1k3y> but the valves are working and they've open-sourced the plans!  
<tAngent> I'm seeing some reports that loss of sense of smell might be an early tell  
<tAngent> anosmia's a relatively unique symptom, the specificity is likely pretty high

Ange had actually been liveblogging the pandemic since the beginning. Li Wenliang, the whistleblower that died of it, after trying to point out that it was happening and getting intimidated into silence instead. Cordons and lockdowns. Infection curves. Public health organizations. Everyone else calls it something different, but for us, Liam typoed it as "corvid" and now we call it the Raven.

The Raven is a nasty piece of work. Not because of how many people it kills, but because of how many people it _doesn't_ kill. See, if it kills you immediately, you can't spread the virus because you're dead. But if you spend a couple weeks not realizing you've got the virus in you, then another week assuming it's a normal flu and gritting your teeth and powering through it with Tylenol, you're out there, spreading it to everyone you talk to, everyone who rides the subway with you, everyone who touches a door handle after you. Then about 10% of the time it hits your lungs bad enough that you need to be in the hospital, and about 1% of the time it kills. ...well, _probably_ 10% and 1% - we really don't have enough tests right now to be sure.

You've probably already heard the usual stuff about washing your hands, disinfecting high-touch surfaces, leaving the good masks to the healthcare professionals, et-cetera et-cetera. I won't belabor the point. Go poke around the CDC website if you have to.

Knowing all this is not good preparation for... well...

I don't like telling this part of the story. But here it is: Marcus gets sick. Very sick.

\----

<m1k3y> so uh  
<m1k3y> you know how I got an email the other day about how there was a verified infection in one of the units downstairs?  
<m1k3y> well...  
<m1k3y> I've been coughing and everything feels like it's got input lag  
<tAngent> Sweetheart, go get the first aid kit  
<tAngent> I put a thermometer in there  
<m1k3y> all right, but only because you're the one asking 

As soon as Marcus mentions that he is ill on Twitter, his inbox immediately overflows with the usual mix of supportive messages, hate mail, attempts to push random cures, and overly personal requests. He's ignoring it, and has gone back to sifting through other people's posts for concrete ways to help. He shows up with links to mask-sewing sites, decentralized studies, biohackers; the worse it gets, the more he slips into a fugue of trying to do something.

<m1k3y> go install folding@home on your computer, it uses your computer's idle capacity to help calculate whether proteins will fold into certain shapes  
<m1k3y> also, for those of you who have 3d printers  
<m1k3y> they need help printing the top bands for faceshields and at this point they don't even care whether they're made out of medical grade material or not anymore  
<m1k3y> the stl file's over at prusa, contact your local makerspace to see where you should send the results  
<armstrong> I don't have one, but Liam does. @ceilingfan?  
<ceiling_fan> I'll let my wife know to haul ours out of storage  
<ceiling_fan> thx!  
<tAngent> Young man, you need to go lie down  
<m1k3y> sure, mom  
<tAngent> You can't save the world by yourself.

Marcus completely ignores the injunction that he's supposed to let someone else deal with it and rest, which honestly I don't blame him for. He's hit the authorities where it hurts before, he knows he can change the world again, and that confidence is simultaneously enviable and burning-the-candle-at-both-ends reckless.

It nearly kills him.

\----

I'm often up absurdly early - I work better when it's quieter, and my jobs as social media manager have a lot of things that can be queued up - so that's how I end up being the only one awake to see a message from him:

<m1k3y> hey, is anyone here  
<m1k3y> i need someone to call me an ambulance

The world suddenly stops turning.

<armstrong> Wait, what?  
<m1k3y> ange's not answering  
<m1k3y> & i'm having too much trouble breathing to talk  
<armstrong> Damn. Okay. Same address I sent the Christmas card to?  
<m1k3y> yeah

You can't call 911 for someone outside your local area. They'll just tell you to call there instead and hang up. Many VOIP providers aren't hooked up to the right 911 call center, either - you might get routed to the 911 for your area, the 911 for the area the VOIP is based in, or even an administrative number that's only for non-emergency calls. So, here's how to do it:

An Internet search and I have the area's police non-emergency number, which I start to type into my phone. I pause. Would they just send the police? That would be worse than - no, this is a case of Raven, they'd probably know to route it to the paramedics instead. I finish the number and hit the call button.

A professional voice answers. "Hello, this is the Pinetree police department. If you're -"

The words rush out. "My friend is having trouble breathing, he lives at, uh, give me a moment to get the thing out -"

"- press 2 to file a police report. Press 3 to -"

I realize that I'm talking to an automated phone tree, mentally smack myself, and jab the 0 button repeatedly to try to get the operator.

"I'm sorry, I didn't recognize that."

Oh, of _course_ they'd disconnected 0. They do that a lot these days: hide the option to talk to a human behind an obscure series of buttons to reduce call center volume. I grit my teeth and "listen carefully to the following options", pick a department that might be open after hours, and find myself facing hold music.

I try to slam the "hang up" button, which is unsatisfying since I'm just hitting the glass phone screen.

<m1k3y> any luck?  
<armstrong> Just a sec, got stuck with a phone robot

I call the non-emergency number again and go down a different branch of the phone tree. I try to remember to breathe. The wait is agonizing.

Finally, an exceptionally bored receptionist answers. "After-hours impound lot, may I help you?"

"One of my friends is having trouble breathing, but I can't call your 911 because I don't live there. Can you help?"

Suddenly, the voice on the other end perks up. I'm probably the most interesting thing to happen to her this month. "Oh! Oh yeah, sure, let me just transfer you." Click.

"911, what is your emergency?"

"Oh thank god, okay, my friend said to call an ambulance because he's having serious trouble breathing."

"What's the address?"

I read out the address. Then I continue: "He's pretty sure he has the corona. Someone else in his apartment building was apparently diagnosed with it a couple days ago, and his SO says all the symptoms are consistent."

"Thanks for the warning. I'm dispatching an ambulance now. Can I get your name and phone number so we can call you back if we need to?"

"Yeah, sure. My name's Neil. My number is -" As I recite my phone number, I realize that I've been hunched over in concentration the entire time and try to loosen up.

"Are you still communicating with him?"

<armstrong> They want to know if you're still alive.  
<m1k3y> yes and I hate it  
<armstrong> Copy that.

"I've been talking with him. So far he seems lucid enough." I pause. "Uh, I mean, I've been text chatting with him. Apparently he doesn't have enough breath to speak?"

"Got it. Tell him the paramedics we're sending are going to be in isolation suits. And what's your address?"

"Wait. You already have his address, right?"

"No, I meant you. The caller. Neil."

"I, uh..." This is not a question I'd been expecting. "I live out of state?"

"It's for our records," the operator says.

I almost answer the question automatically, but even just hanging out with Marcus teaches you that just because an authority asks doesn't mean you have to listen. And if they want it badly enough, they could always just reverse lookup my phone number. "I'd rather not, thanks."

The operator pauses. "All right. Would you happen to have any sort of emergency contact information? Or insurance?"

Over the next few minutes I scroll back through the chat log to see when he started getting symptoms and read it out. I keep an eye on the group chat while I'm talking, but nobody else shows up.

"The paramedics are in his building now. Thanks for your help."

And before I can say anything else, there's the beep of a call ending: I've been hung up on.

<armstrong> Let me know when you get kidnapped by the men in white.

There's no response. I'm too wired to do any work: I stare vaguely at the Internet until the chat beeps at me again. It's a private message from Darryl.

<socks00> dude get off the computer  
<armstrong> What?  
<socks00> i saw what happened  
<socks00> let me guess  
<socks00> youre terrified out of your wits  
<socks00> so youre trying to shove news or twitter or webmd or whatever into your eyeballs  
<socks00> thats gonna make it worse  
<armstrong> ...  
<socks00> get out of the chair  
<socks00> put down your phone  
<socks00> then do some exercise to burn off the adrenaline  
<socks00> or find yourself breakfast  
<socks00> or do literally anything else  
<socks00> staring at the screen is not gonna make news magically appear any faster  
<armstrong> Fine.

Darryl, usually the one jumping at shadows and asking for reality checks, is somehow the most stable one of us all when things go wrong. I asked him why, once. He said it's because he's been living with constant anxiety for a decade now, so he's had to learn how to deal with it.

I get up. I take a shower. Afterwards, my brain is rattling around a bit less in my skull, and - miracle of miracles - Ange is up.

<tAngent> Marcus' mother called me. He's on a ventilator.  
<tAngent> Not doing great. But alive.  
<tAngent> The doctors said they appreciated that emergency wallet card with basic medical stuff written on it  
<tAngent> so if you don't already have one of those now would be a good time  
<armstrong> You put him up to that one, right?  
<tAngent> oh! Neil!  
<tAngent> thank you so so so much for helping call earlier  
<armstrong> Look, any of us would've done it.  
<armstrong> I just happened to be there, is all.  
<tAngent> you saved his life!  
<armstrong> He might've told his work friends at the same time. Probably it would've been fine either way.  
<tAngent> You stop right there  
<tAngent> Just take the damn compliment  
<socks00> agreed  
<socks00> youll catch a serious case of the shoulds if you keep going on like this

Over the next few hours we get a slow drip of fragmentary, alarming updates about oxygen saturation and sedation and so forth. Ange calls off work entirely for the day and tries to keep herself busy. But at some point she cracks.

<tAngent> He did everything right.  
<socks00> ?  
<tAngent> He was working from home, washing his hands, everything.  
<tAngent> So why is this happening anyway?  
<armstrong> To be honest, I've been asking myself the same question.  
<socks00> technically he wasnt   
<socks00> he could have had groceries delivered  
<socks00> and done his laundry in the bathtub instead of the laundromat  
<socks00> and bleached every surface in the apartment every few hours  
<armstrong> Not. Helping.  
<Songbird> D please go take your meds  
<Songbird> Or I will find you and give you a noogie :)  
<socks00> ok but what if i want the noogie  
<Songbird> I will give you as much as you want afterwards then  
<Songbird> But seriously, go take your pills  
<socks00> brb getting water  
<Songbird> And hey  
<Songbird> Ange  
<Songbird> It's okay to be scared.  
<Songbird> I would be too.

It is at this point that my phone rings. People who hire social media managers don't really understand social media, which means that for one of my jobs, I still have to answer the phone.

"Neil, you haven't put up this week's blog post yet," says K-boss. "Something up?"

"Look, I'll get to it, it's just - my friend is in the hospital, serious condition, I've gotten most of the research done but -"

"Whoa, whoa. It's fine. I just wanted to check in. Like. I don't expect your normal level of productivity here. This isn't working at home like normal. You are stuck at home, trying to work while the entire world falls apart."

"Okay. I just, I need a bit. I knew something like this was going to happen, statistically everyone is going to know people who died of it when all of this is over, but..."

"Hey. It's all right. Take the next few days off. Let me know if you need anything."

"Thanks. I, uh. Can you get back to me about the blog post in two days? Just to make sure I don't accidentally lose this on the back burner."

"Certainly. And best of wishes for your friend's recovery."

"Thanks." I hang up.

I realize that the anxiety has ebbed and left me only exhaustion. I put on some music, lie back, and close my eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

The hospital is a terrifying place at the best of times. The ICU, doubly so. You're being checked on and moved around at all hours, people are sticking strange things into you, and you're surrounded by constant beeping and whirring and shouting. Many people hallucinate, and post-ICU PTSD is a well-documented phenomenon. And the isolation procedures demanded by the Raven's virulence only make this worse, by taking away the human contact that could keep people grounded in reality: no family visits, no chaplains, no time for anyone to explain what's going on.

And the thing here is - there isn't any treatment, at all, that will help with the Raven. All they can do is keep you alive and breathing long enough that your immune system can do mop-up. So we can’t do much other than wait.

What we can do is keep him sane. We trade off calling him, three times a day, so he can hear someone familiar. In the mornings I pass along the least creepy of the Twitter well-wishes; in the afternoons and evenings some of the others read the chat aloud to him, or pass along technical news, or what-have-you. When we can manage it, we do video calls. I have no idea how conscious he is for most of it, but I figure it's worth doing anyway.

A reporter tries to call me for a statement on Marcus' condition, since he's gone totally silent on Twitter. I get those sometimes: apparently being friends with a public figure makes you open season, too. I turn the request down and block the number. The article goes live the next hour anyway. Most of it is wrong.

Days of slow, tenuous improvement later, he finally shows up on the chat.

<m1k3y> Reports of my death are exaggerated, but not by much  
<m1k3y> The Raven nearly ate my lungs  
<armstrong> Welcome back.  
<socks00> i heard the intubation hasnt been a great time for you  
<tAngent> didn't they, like, have to give you Valium  
<m1k3y> Well  
<m1k3y> What I remember is  
<m1k3y> I tried to pull the tube out because I thought I was choking  
<m1k3y> And they  
<m1k3y> Strapped my arms down to the bed  
<armstrong> What?  
<m1k3y> This is apparently standard procedure.  
<socks00> i wish i could have been there  
<socks00> to help  
<m1k3y> You did.  
<m1k3y> All the calls.  
<m1k3y> Gitmo-by-the-Bay never let me have those.  
<socks00> oh  
<m1k3y> So yeah, thanks  
<armstrong> Though I have to say, the fact that the only video call provider that the hospital staff could figure out was Zoom...  
<tAngent> Okay, that part was hilarious in the worst way

Marcus posts a picture of himself on Twitter (he still steadfastly refuses to use the word selfie), as an explanation for his absence. He's pale and exhausted, surrounded by tubes and wires. They've taken him off the ventilator - they need it for people who are doing worse, and apparently given his history they wanted to get him off as soon as possible so as to not retraumatize him further - and put him in an oxygen mask. He follows it up with another picture, a CT scan of his lungs. Two big black shapes on a white background, but with gray clouds inside the black that aren't supposed to be there: ground-glass opacities. Fluid in the lungs.

<m1k3y> So did you know that testing for this virus involves jabbing a swab all the way down your nasal cavity until it's almost scraping your brain?  
<armstrong> Yikes.  
<Songbird> Ouch.  
<m1k3y> Overheard the nurses talking about how they're running short on tests  
<m1k3y> I think they scrounged up a test for me because I have half a million twitter followers and it would be a bad look not to  
<tAngent> Is it selfish for me to be glad that you got the test?  
<m1k3y> I mean, yeah, but is that a bad thing?  
<tAngent> I wanted you to be okay  
<tAngent> ...and I was willing to do things I would regret afterwards, to make it happen.  
<tAngent> The only reason I didn't drop everything to take the first plane there is because I know the isolation rules would've made any visits impossible.  
<Songbird> They say love is a kind of insanity.  
<m1k3y> You're one to talk about insanity, Ms. I Visited Darryl Every Day In The Hospital.  
<Songbird> I lived closest and figured someone had to do it, is all.  
<armstrong> Hey, let's not get into a banana-measuring contest here.  
<m1k3y> Sorry  
<Songbird> Right.

I manage to get at least a little work done. The Tumblr blog I run for Z-boss gets a viral (ha) hit. Ange tries to keep Marcus from overworking himself, with somewhat more success this time. Even if only because the doctors are demanding it too.

<tAngent> Still mad that the best job I could get with a degree was medical coder  
<tAngent> which is to say, a professional yelling-at-insurance person  
<tAngent> which is a job that really shouldn't exist.  
<tAngent> The US health system is completely and utterly broken.  
<tAngent> This rant is brought to you by the sheer number of people who are trying to get their basic lifesaving treatment paid off via GoFundMe.  
<m1k3y> Yeah Jolu's prepared a list of people who need financial help for me to retweet every day or so  
<m1k3y> Saves me time and effort   
<tAngent> And the energy you need to save to fight off the Raven.  
<m1k3y> And that.

He's in the hospital for nineteen days. The doctors say that's pretty fast for recovery from a ventilator case. Clearing him for discharge is hard, because of how far away the hospital is, but they need the space, so they're pushing the bureaucracy to its limits.

<m1k3y> They'll call you about it once they've done the paperwork, Ange, but I figured I'd give everyone here the tl;dr  
<m1k3y> Because right now my memory is being a sieve and I don't want to accidentally have left someone out  
<m1k3y> Basically they did this thing where they checked whether I could do basic human stuff like swallowing and going to the bathroom  
<socks00> the functional assessment  
<m1k3y> Yes, that's the name, thanks  
<armstrong> As part of the discharge stuff, yes?  
<m1k3y> The amount of stuff I can't do is  
<m1k3y> Honestly kind of terrifying.  
<m1k3y> They're writing up referrals to too many rehab specialists for me to count.

\----

Eventually all the arrangements are made. The apartment he left behind is getting packed up, and everything important mailed back by a coworker of his. A medical taxi from the hospital gets him onto a flight back to SF.

Ange posts a picture when she picks him up from the airport. It's of him in an airport wheelchair, any expression on his face hidden behind an enormous cloth mask. Ange is holding his hand.

<tAngent> I'll be driving now, but he thought it was important for you to see him for yourselves.  
<socks00> hey marcus  
<socks00> you look like hell  
<armstrong> Like a vacant lot a week after they've sprayed it down with weed killer.  
<ceiling_fan> Like roadkill run over by the entire presidential motorcade.  
<armstrong> Like a microwaved burrito that's sat out for too long and gone cold.  
<ceiling_fan> You've used that one before. I win.  
<armstrong> I bow to your prowess, Liam.  
<socks00> anyway  
<socks00> glad to see you still kicking  
<Songbird> Agreed.  
<armstrong> ^  
<m1k3y> Thanks for the... compliments?  
<m1k3y> When I get home I'm going to go sleep for ten years  
<m1k3y> I have, like, no stamina left  
<socks00> yeah so did i  
<socks00> after the thing with the stuff happened  
<socks00> anyway i have some literature about post hospital rehab i can pass along if you want  
<m1k3y> I might actually take you up on that offer  
<socks00> short version  
<socks00> that was the easy part  
<socks00> in the hospital everyone did stuff for you  
<socks00> now you have to do all the work yourself 

Ange has to take a leave of absence to take care of Marcus the first few weeks. Darryl turns out to be a wizard at navigating the public assistance system, and finds the two of them short-term disability resources and help with the bills: state disability insurance and paid leave, Medicaid, food banks, an FMLA note to protect Ange's job, student loan forbearance.

For the first week or so Marcus can barely get across his apartment before he's winded and has to go back to bed, the tube previously shoved down his throat has ruined his ability to eat solid food, and he's scared and touchy. And he was a mostly healthy young person. The Raven can destroy anyone.

<armstrong> If there's anything else either of you need, please let me know.  
<m1k3y> Well, if you're offering, can you make Ensure taste less like oatmeal water trying and failing to be vanilla?  
<socks00> try the dark chocolate flavor   
<socks00> i traded for some by walking a psych ward nurse through fixing her laptop  
<socks00> had to tell her what to type in and click on through the acrylic walls of the nurse station because they dont let you touch a computer in there  
<socks00> totally worth it  
<tAngent> Hopefully the speech therapist's exercises to reduce those swallowing muscle spasms work.  
<armstrong> Wait, I thought speech therapists were for like lisps and stuff.  
<tAngent> They work on anything to do with the mouth and throat  
<tAngent> Same way occupational therapists also help with other ADLs like doing laundry and cooking.  
<armstrong> I assume that acronym isn't being used to refer to the Anti-Defamation League.  
<socks00> activities of daily living  
<socks00> basically your ability to live in a place that isnt a nursing home  
<m1k3y> I'm working on it, okay?  
<tAngent> And you're doing an amazing job, sweetheart.

Ange arranges for telehealth appointments, videoconferencing with doctors and specialists. The psychiatrist (Ange finally manages to convince him to see one, by booking the appointment for him and then daring him to object) prescribes him an antidepressant for the anxiety, and something to help with the nightmares. The physical therapist helps set up a plan for graded exercise therapy: a very slow and careful buildup to being able to exert himself again, five minutes of walking at a time.

Improvement is agonizingly slow. But it's there.

<m1k3y> gg  
<m1k3y> I might go for another round of the game, if anyone here's willing to keep going?  
<armstrong> I need to go cook dinner soon, so I think I'm done.  
<tAngent> You've been sitting upright at your desk for a whole four hours now.  
<m1k3y> wait, really?  
<armstrong> Yep.  
<tAngent> Congratulations on your new record!  
<tAngent> Now get to bed before you fall over and I have to drag you myself.  
<m1k3y> Hey Neil, will you let me have another go at it if I take my meds?  
<armstrong> Much as I'm tempted, I have to say no.   
<armstrong> Also, Darryl, you are the worst influence.  
<socks00> thanks  
<socks00> i try

Things don't return to normal. Nothing is normal anymore, and it will not be normal for months, maybe years: the vaccine is still far away in trials for safety, and that's the only way everything can really open up without risk of new outbreaks and more deaths. And Marcus' rehab is still going. But we reach a sort of equilibrium.

<armstrong> So I heard that they want plasma donations from survivors, for the antibodies.  
<armstrong> An experimental treatment for people who are very sick, available only from people who've recovered from being very sick.  
<m1k3y> hey I resemble that remark  
<armstrong> Something you could do, maybe, to help.  
<m1k3y> I actually asked the doc about that the other day  
<m1k3y> She says doing it should be safe now, so long as I'm careful to hydrate and eat well afterwards.  
<m1k3y> hey Ange  
<m1k3y> if I apply to one of those, would you mind driving me to the collection site?  
<tAngent> I'd love to.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, so severe post-ICU health effects, especially after being on a ventilator for more than a few days, are well-documented. Usually, extensive rehab and reconditioning is necessary for a full recovery. But given the number of people who are on ventilators right now, and how many specialists it takes to provide that kind of help...
> 
> ...a lot of people won't get enough support to really get better.
> 
> \----
> 
> Update, August 2020:
> 
> So! A couple things.
> 
> \- I've finally inserted "coronavirus" into the tags, though not into the fic itself; the reason this fic carefully avoids using the term is because "coronavirus" is actually a name for a whole family of different viruses, most of which are not this one. Also, "covid" really doesn't roll off the tongue.  
> \- The virus is definitely doing weird things to places that aren't the lungs. There's reports of blood clots showing up in random places causing heart attacks and strokes, a frustratingly high incidence of post-viral fatigue syndromes, and other sorts of widespread damage. These are extremely, extremely not normal for a respiratory virus.  
> \- It's possible that some of the damage in severe cases of Raven is not entirely the virus's fault, but actually due to a "cytokine storm". This is when the immune system goes "the virus can't kill all the cells if we kill all the cells first!" and then proceeds to go bonkers. This is supported by the fact that steroids seem to help with some of the worst cases.  
> \- For example, dexamethasone is proven to significantly increase survivability when hospitalized and on a ventilator. ...By about 33%. It isn't a cure, so don't count on it.  
> \- No, you can't replace ventilators with CPAP machines or DIY mechanical bag-pressing shenanigans. You really need the tube all the way down the airway to prevent the virus from spreading even more due to exhaled air-and-virus-particles getting everywhere, and you really need the delicate mechanical controls of exactly how much air to send so that people develop less lung damage from air getting forced into the lungs too strongly and can be weaned off the ventilator slowly.  
> \- "Long-haulers" are a thing: people who never even begin to get better, whose fevers and shortness of breath keep recurring for months. Silver lining is that this will probably result in more research into CFS/ME, but it really, really sucks for people who have it. There's support groups for long-haulers on various social media platforms, if you search specifically for "covid long-hauler".


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